


The Taun Fawn and the Orobird

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: I mean - it's a crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: In the year 2BTC, Jedi Knight Galathan Lavellan is assigned to oversee Imperial defector Dorian Pavus. Babysitting quickly turns to companionship as they both find a true friend in the midst of the war.---Galathan is the Inquisitor of@awaariover on tumblr, written with her permission. Check out her stuff!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's in the summary, but seriously, check out [@awaari.](https://awaari.tumblr.com/) For those only familiar with Dragon Age, SWTOR was Bioware's Star Wars MMO and successor to KOTOR _that died years ago and I refuse to believe otherwise. What a shame they never finished the Fallen Empire, isn't it?_ -cough- 
> 
> Anyway, the most important thing to know if you're only familiar with what's currently canon in SW (1, 2, Clone Wars, Rebels, 3, Rogue One, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Thrawn) is that in Old Republic Era there are functionally as many Sith as there are Jedi. They have the Sith Hierarchy instead of the Jedi Order. 
> 
> Grand Master -> Master -> Knight -> Padawan  
> Emperor -> Darth -> Lord -> Acolyte
> 
> There are other notes I included for context during my original posting on tumblr, however, they contain mild spoilers and would interrupt the flow of reading. Hopefully you can figure out enough from context. Those details really aren't that important.

“A  _ dalish _ Jedi? My, my, Republic space  _ is _ quaint, isn’t it?” Dorian Pavus twirled the end of his black, waxed mustache. The Imperial wore decadent black robes with a delicate, gold, sleeveless coat resting regally on his shoulders.

Galathan ignored the remark and gave the human a perfunctory bow that had his braid swaying in the air. He wore the simple, brown robes of his Order with only the lightsaber on his belt signifying his rank. “Lord Pavus, I am Jedi Knight Galathan, here to escort you to Coruscant.”

Dorian gave the Jedi a bow reserved for equals and given his pleasant expression, it was possible he thought they were, despite his comment about Galathan being dalish. “Just Dorian Pavus, if you please. My…  _ father _ … is Lord Pavus and the Hierarchy is touchy about who uses the title.”

Privately, Gal thought it wasn’t worth the semantics, but even if he wasn’t a Jedi, he would hardly insult one of the few Imperial defectors in the middle of the war. “Of course, Dorian. The shuttle is this way.”

“Lovely; this swamp is absolutely murder on my boots. I can’t imagine what Revan saw in this… place,” Dorian said with his polished Kaasian accent. He wrinkled his aristocratic nose. “Ah, well, needs must. Though I do have a question, Sir Knight.”

Gal glanced at Dorian over his shoulder before turning back to the path and answering. “I’ll answer it, if I can. I’m sure you understand that given your particular legal status, I’m not at liberty to speak freely.”

“Indeed.” Dorian held his robes up off the ground as they tromped across the shallowest portion of Taris’s toxic swamp. “I’m just curious as to how you came to be a Jedi. I was under the impression that dalish had their own Force traditions.”

Memories flooded Gal’s mind, but he pushed them away before the emotions carried on their backs could break through his calm. “We do. However, after retaking Korriban the Sith destroyed my clan’s homeworld.”

“My condolences,” Dorian said, the luster in his voice audibly dampened. “That sort of thing is precisely why I came to this horrid swamp.”

“Death, yet the Force,” Gal replied.

\---

Dorian looked up from his datapad when the door to his hotel room opened. Perhaps hotel room was overstating the fact. The room was barely more than a soldier’s bunk and there certainly wasn’t any room service - not that he’d been crass enough to complain. He felt his own face morph from polite curiosity to real pleasure when he recognized the tawny-haired Jedi letting himself in. “Knight  _ Galathan _ ,” he said, putting heavy emphasis on the Jedi’s name.

The Jedi held his outer robe close to his body as he gave the same, shallow bow he’d used on Taris. “Good morning, Dorian.”

With a flick of his wrist, Dorian deactivated the datapad before tossing it lightly onto the coffee table. He stood and looked the Jedi up and down, his gaze just this side of lascivious. “Has the Senate requested clarification on anything?”  
  
Galathan shook his head before stepping into the room properly and shutting the door behind him. “Not at the moment. I’m here to inform you that I’ve been assigned to oversee your stay here on Coruscant.”

Dorian stroked his chin and lifted a single eyebrow. “A Jedi Knight for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“It’s as much for your protection as anything else. Your accent and appearance are rather… striking,” the Jedi said. Despite his calm tone of voice, a blush spread across his cheeks for a moment before disappearing. “The Council wants to ensure there are no accidents.”

“Of course, of course,” Dorian said. He gestured to the coffee table. “Please, sit with me. The tea is still fresh.” 

The Jedi moved carefully and with measured steps across the small room. What little could be seen under the frumpy, brown robes hinted at a lithe figure with particularly honed muscles. While Galathan wouldn’t be winning any races at his current pace, he moved with smooth, efficient strides that suggested martial training.

Hands calloused from years of training and combat made a cup of tea with the plain service Dorian found in the room. After taking his first sip, Galathan spoke again. “The Senate doesn’t seem to know what to do with you.”

“I have that effect on people. Outrageously handsome, impossibly clever…” Dorian reached into his black robe and pulled out a fan made from bright red orobird feathers. He proceeded to fan himself dramatically, which won a laugh from the Jedi.

“Personally, I didn’t even know the Empire  _ had _ nobles,” Galathan admitted.

“We certainly do. Us humanoids simply  _ revel _ in petty authority. The pettiness is comically clear on Dromund Kaas with Sith behind every bush. As I said, the Hierarchy takes exception to people calling themselves lords.”

“You risked a lot, bringing us this information,” Galathan said. His eyes were so clear and earnest, Dorian had to look away.

“I couldn’t very well let those plans come to fruition,” Dorian said, leaving the details intentionally vague. Attractive though he was, Dorian’s new babysitter hadn’t been invited to sit in when Dorian gave the Senate his information. “Sometimes I feel like the only Imperial who cares about our  _ people _ . The civilians.”  
  
Galathan cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. “The State sponsors slavery, so you may well be correct.”

Dorian straightened in his seat and resisted the urge let out a defensive sniff. “With the state of the  _ government _ , you’re safer a slave than a free man without the Force.”

Galathan’s teacup dropped out of his hands and tumbled through the air towards the table only to be caught in the grip of his Force technique before it could make contact and shatter. His lips were nearly white with pressure holding them together and the angry words in. “Are you honestly trying to  _ excuse _ -”

“Don’t be foolish! Slavery is abhorrent, but so are the Sith. They would hesitate to destroy the ‘property’ of another Sith where nothing would stay their hand should a  _ person _ stumble upon them during a fit of pique.” Dorian snarled the word ‘properly’ with such derision, he nearly spat.

“Do you own slaves, then?”

“Given my legal status, I’m lucky to  _ own _ the clothes on my back.”

Galathan used the Force to drop the teacup back onto its saucer with a loud clink of china. “So you  _ do _ .”

“Well- That is- Legally-” Dorian stumbled uncharacteristically over his words. He paused, took a deep breath and said, “Everyone at the estate has a prepaid ticket to wherever they want to go and documentation stating their status as free men, but  _ yes _ they wear the livery of slaves and act as such in front of visitors.”

“For their  _ protection _ ,” Galathan said, anger clear in his voice and on his face until he took a moment to calm himself.

“I am here  _ now _ , doing everything I can. You have a choice of lambasting me for my father’s sins or helping me help  _ them _ .”

Galathan held his teacup with both hands as collected himself. “You’re right. I was being hasty. Ignorance, yet wisdom. Passion, yet serenity. Yes, I know it’s not as simple as wanting them to be free and then they are. I apologize for my outburst.”

Dorian let out a relieved sigh and relaxed somewhat. He made a show of fanning the air between them. “Now, now, none of that. There was a spark of life in you for a moment there. Let’s see if we can bring it back under better context.”

\---

Coruscant’s market district was flooded with artificial light. Not that it was  _ unusual _ for a city-planet, but Galathan spent most of the last five years training on Alderaan, where the stuffy nobles kept most of the land clear of development. He kept his hands in the opposite sleeves as he walked a half-step behind Dorian. 

The Imperial had settled into his life as a defector with aplomb. Gal knew that the stipend from the Senate barely covered food. At first, he was suspicious of the young noble’s seemingly bottomless closet. His position as overseer necessitated investigation of the matter, no matter how affable he found the Imperial. Thankfully, it turned out Dorian had only two outfits; it was just that each one consisted of a, frankly ridiculous, number of separate pieces that he could layer differently and mix between the two.

Galathan’s attention snapped back to the present when he felt a twinge in the Force. He reached out and touched the Imperial’s shoulder. “Dorian-”

A volley of blasterfire interrupted Gal’s warning, but with the help of the Force he reacted fast enough to push Dorian to the ground. He drew his saber as he spun and lit the yellow blade just in time to deflect a red bolt of plasma. 

“Oh look: gangsters! What a wonderful way to ruin our day,” Dorian said as he climbed to his feet. He put his back to the plasteel siding of a Corellian-style restaurant. He had a blaster in hand, though it was aimed at the ground as he surveyed the area.

“Where did you get a blaster?” Gal asked, even as he moved to stand defensively in front of Dorian. 

“I think the more pressing concern is these gangsters firing at us.” Dorian fired at a nautolan wearing a balaclava, but when the gangster went down, he appeared unwounded. 

_ At least he’s set the thing to stun _ , Gal thought. “It’s not  _ us _ they’re aiming at. We’re just caught in the crossfire.” He deflected another blasterbolt and grimaced when he saw a family of rodians cowering behind a planter.

“While accurate, I’m not quite sure how that helps,” Dorian said. He fired a second shot, but it fizzled out against the armor painted with a crude black sun.

Gal ignored the comment and split his attention between deflecting shots aimed at his ward and using his mediocre telekinesis to try and move the scared-stiff rodians into a sheltered alleyway. Thankfully, once they felt his will acting on them, they startled into motion and sprinted away on their own. The Jedi glanced over his shoulder and nearly swore when he saw Dorian leaned around the side of the restaurant, firing off shots. “What are you doing? Are you trying to get killed?”

“I’m trying to protect civilians. The entire reason I’m in this part of the galaxy, need I remind you. I’m a big boy, Jedi. Peeling my own grapes and everything. I’ve got this side, you take that one.”

After a calming breath quelled the desire to snap back at the Imperial, Gal turned and focused his attention on the gangsters.  _ Where’s market security? _

\---

Galathan chuckled over his cup of tea. “You can make that expression all you like; it won’t change the fact that all I have to offer are brown robes. If I recall correctly, I told you to stand down while I dealt with the situation in the market. You have only yourself to blame that your robe has a hole in it.”

Dorian shot the Jedi a sour look over his fancy, black outer robe. He had shooed away the laundry droid and was attempting to repair it himself, but his otherwise agile and talented fingers held the needle clumsily. “You are  _ far _ too amused by my despair. I thought you Jedi were supposed to be emotionless?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Gal said. He took a sip of tea as he collected his thoughts. “Most races can’t suppress emotions in a healthy way. Our tenets are more about following the proper course of action  _ despite _ emotion. Of course, our way of life is designed to minimize strong emotions that would compromise that.”

“Interesting. You know, you’re the boogie men in the Empire. Misbehaving children will be kidnapped in the night and taken away to be held in isolation and celibacy.” Dorian waggled his eyebrows with his last comment.

“I don’t know where they got  _ that _ idea. The Grand Master herself has a son.”

“Surely, you jest.” 

“Maybe,” Gal said. He smirked at the Imperial. “In all seriousness, though, personal relationships are frowned upon far more severely than coitus. Relationships breed strong emotions, which can lead to the Dark Side. Breeding can just lead to more beings made of Force.”

Dorian froze in place, needle piercing the fabric and eyebrow raised. He turned his incredulous gaze on Galathan, whose expression was completely serene. After a beat, they both started laughing. Dorian didn’t even complain when he pricked himself wiping a tear from his eye. “Thank the Force I was assigned you and not some stuffy, old master.”

“I appreciate the compliment. I’ve also spoken with my master about the situation with your wardrobe. She said that she’ll be able to bargain your stipend up once all of your information is verified.” Gal set down his teacup on the plain, if serviceable, saucer. “She chose not to relate your involvement in the market incident to her Senate contact. I suggest you do the same.”

“You’re just full of pleasant surprises today, Mr. Knight. Don’t let all of my Life Days come at once.” Dorian set down his robe, though he waved the droid away when it tried to take it. “I do appreciate you looking after me. The Holonet is rife with… complaints about my dear, sweet homeland. I’m not  _ too _ terribly worried about my safety, but…”

Gal chuckled. “Just ensure no one else finds out about your blaster. Neither my master nor I will cover for you.”

\---

Time didn’t pass quickly. There was a war on, even if the fighting hadn’t reached the city-planet of Coruscant. Nevertheless, Dorian and his Jedi bodyguard grew close. As promised (it actually wasn’t promised, but Dorian had assumed it was) Gal’s master managed to increase Dorian’s stipend, though after buying a new robe, the defector saved whatever credits he didn’t spend on food.

Three months into Dorian’s time in Republic Space, Gal presented him with the most ostentatious, hideous, prohibitively fragile teacup he’d ever seen. He loved it. Dorian used it every time the Jedi was in his homely flat, which was nearly every day, despite the fact that Dorian was fairly certain the terms of his defection stated he only needed watching in person when he planned to leave the flat.

_ Not that I mind _ , Dorian thought as he looked at the Jedi over his garish purple and yellow teacup. After all of the time they spent together, Dorian was quite good at spotting emotions flickering across the Jedi’s face. While Gal usually had a mask of gentle calm, he was clearly, to Dorian’s eye, mulling over something unpleasant.

“Dorian… I have a question.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and lowered his teacup. “Ask away.”

Gal cleared his throat and glanced away for a moment until the calm settled back over his features. “This isn’t an official inquiry or anything. You don’t have to answer. I was just wondering… The war’s been going for years. Why defect  _ now _ ?”

The question felt like a punch to the stomach and Dorian flinched before he could control himself. He pulled on the end of his mustache, for once not sparing a thought for the pitiful quality of the wax he’d been regulated to. “You certainly go right to the heart of the matter.”

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s fine. No, it’s  _ better  _ if you know. I’ve mentioned my patron, Lord Gereon Alexius? Who shielded me from other Sith?” He continued at Gal’s nod. “His son Felix, my friend, he… Well, he didn’t inherit his father’s ability with the Force. He’s Sensitive, but weak. Alexius saved him from the Inquisitors, but... “

Gal listened in silence, though he leaned across the table and made Dorian a new cup of tea.

“Thank you,” Dorian said. He took his time savouring the first sip. “Felix was cursed by one of his father’s rivals. Something truly Dark, with no counter. He was dying, slowly, painfully. Then Darth Malgus approached Alexius.”

“Darth  _ Malgus _ ? But he’s leading the war effort, isn’t he?”

Dorian nodded. “Alexius- Alexius had been researching how Force spells and curses are passed down through Sith bloodlines. Those silly, red, facial tattoos and things to ensure your heir can’t kill you. He thought there might be some way to expand Felix’s Force abilities.”

“Is there?”

“He hadn’t found anything by the time Felix was cursed and some of the old Rakata relics seem to imply it’s impossible, but it hardly matters  _ now _ .”

Gal flinched. He ran a hand over the green tattoos on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I can understand that you’re curious.” Dorian looked down at the dark tea in his cup and sighed. “I don’t know what Darth Malgus wanted with the research, only that it required sacrifices. Living, sentient sacrifices. I couldn’t suffer that. Those poor people…”

“I’m sorry,” the Jedi repeated. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You don’t have to… lie to your master or the Senate or what have you. I told them during the initial interviews.”

“I would, if it were necessary. Those details aren’t important. Your feelings are.”

\---

The Works was a terrible place. A rusty, oily smell pervaded the air and seeped into fabric and lingered on skin. It was a terrible place and given that Galathan was precariously balanced on a creaking, shuddering, corroded, durasteel plate about to fall to his grisly death, Dorian wasn’t sure why they were there in the first place.

Dorian knelt on the edge of the warped bondite plate that had collapsed under the Jedi’s feet. The twisted metal jabbed his knees through his robes, but he had bigger concerns, namely the growing, red splotch on Galathan’s robes. “Are you alright?”

The Jedi gingerly touched the wound and flinched, which made the plate he was standing on rock precariously. He visibly swallowed and then looked up at Dorian. “Can you call, ugh, Master Istimaethoriel?”

Dorian nodded and pulled out his comm unit, but, so far under the surface, it couldn’t connect. He tossed the useless thing to the side and worried at the thick, gold cuffs around his wrists. “ _ Kriff _ ! There’s no signal! Can’t you just do one of those fancy jumps?”

Galathan shook his head, careful not to shift his weight. “My Force training is more martial. With this wound and…” He looked down at the shuddering metal beneath his feet. “I’m not sure I could jump high enough and the downward force would destroy the platform.”

Dorian was on the verge of tears and distressed enough he didn’t even try to keep it out of his voice. “This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t heroically shoved me out of the way, I’d be down there and you’d be up here, uninjured and capable of just lifting me out.”

“We just need to stay calm and trust in the Force and I’ll think of something,” the Jedi said. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his mouth kept twitching with emotion as he tried to stay calm and fight down the panic.

“Kriff. It was going to come out sooner or later, I suppose.” Dorian removed the cuffs and then stood. He took a deep breath and said, “I do hope you were sincere when you said you’d lie for me.”

“I really don’t think now is-”

In a sharp motion, Dorian flicked out his wrist over the pit and Galathan’s lightsaber hilt snapped into the palm of his hand. “This is a more powerful crystal than I was expecting,” Dorian said distractedly. He focused his thoughts and channeled the Force through the crystal in the Jedi’s lightsaber. 

After a moment, Galathan slowly floated out of the pit thanks to the power of Dorian’s telekinesis. He clutched his wound and stared at the Imperial.

Dorian couldn’t meet his gaze. He pulled on his mustache with one hand and held out the lightsaber hilt with the other. “Wonderful, ah, craftsmanship on that.”

Galathan hesitated, but eventually took his weapon back. His expression was tight, but it  _ could _ have been from pain. Hopefully, maybe. “I need a doctor. And an explanation.”

\---

Dorian spent a week alone in the tiny, Coruscanti flat. His precious (hideous) teacup remained untouched in the center of his battered coffee table. Twice a day, he carefully balanced the tea service on the free edge of the table rather than move it. Every time he heard footsteps in the hall, he was sure it was the Jedi come to take him to their temple for re-education.

On the eighth day, he was so full of nervous energy that he messed up waxing his mustache so badly that it was stiff and crooked at an awkward angle. The Force was absolutely no help. Since he’d stopped wearing the Force-suppression cuffs, he’d felt wave after wave of unspecific dread. 

When he heard the footsteps of, at least, twenty people down his hallway, Dorian nearly fainted from stress. Feeling lightheaded, he walked to the flimsy door and opened it before the Jedi and their enforcers could break it down. When he saw what was on the other side, he could only blink dumbly.

Galathan looked weak and his skin was pale under his light tan. He was leaning most of his weight on a simple bo-staff and the squadron of footsteps came from the… menagerie of animals around his feet. A nekarr cat, two akk dogs and three different colored gizkas were all nuzzling the Jedi’s legs. “Dorian?”

Flustered, Dorian took a step back, holding the door open for the Jedi and his companions. “Gal… you look better?” His gaze kept flipping between the animals and the Jedi even after he closed the door.

“Sorry about them. This happens every time I’m injured,” Galathan said after gingerly sitting on Dorian’s couch. He leaned his staff against the empty cushion next to him. “Master says they’re more sensitive than regular animals because of all of the ambient Force energy in the temple.”

“Oh. It’s, ah, not a problem.” Dorian said woodenly. He went into the kitchenette and made up the tea service to bring some kind of normalcy to the situation. By the time he brought it into the living area, he felt as if he could have a conversation without making a complete fool of himself. The red gizka croaked mournfully when Dorian relocated it from his chair to the floor.

Galathan seemed equally ill-at-ease as he busied himself making a cup of tea rather than speaking. Once it was done, he delayed even further by picking up Dorian’s garish treasure of a cup and making him one as well. Without any other means to delay, Galathan finally said, “So you’re a Sith.”

Dorian kept his gaze on his teacup, the drink prepared perfectly to his preferences because,  _ of course, _ Galathan would know by that point. He swallowed and glanced up. “My master wasn’t the only one Darth Malgus turned to blood sacrifices for the sake of the war effort. When my father also- Well. I left.”

“I’m not- I don’t-” Galathan shook his head. “I thought that was just part of being Sith. That’s how it  _ works _ .”

Dorian chuckled and it sounded half-hysterical, even to his own ears. “Yes, well, Jedi are emotionless droids, that’s how  _ that _ works, isn’t it? That Dark Side is rather how we’re defined, isn’t it? But the truth of the matter is that if you’re Sensitive and Imperial, you become a Sith or  _ die _ . My father always taught me that the Dark Side was a shortcut to power that can only lead to madness. He and Alexius managed to get me through my formal training with minimal casualties.”

“Why not defect earlier? Why would your father go through the trouble of protecting you from other Sith instead of just leaving?” The greenish gizka rested its chin on Galathan’s thigh when he started getting emotional.

Dorian sighed and took a sip of his tea. “It’s not so simple, abandoning your family, your legacy, your people, everything you know… And that’s ignoring the propaganda about how horrid the Republic and the Jedi are. It may seem bad in the Empire, at times, but we can only believe that the Republic will be  _ worse _ . Nevermind that I would have been taken from my family and my father would have been subject to retraining, re-education, whatever you call it.”

Galathan absentmindedly stroked the gizka’s smooth back. “But what he knows is  _ wrong _ . The Sith are  _ wrong _ . The  _ Empire _ is wrong. Doesn’t he need it?”

“Loving my mother, loving  _ me _ , is wrong? Whatever blackmail or nationalism Darth Malgus used to sell Father on sacrifice is clearly wrong, but I’m not going to resent him for not throwing me out with the bathwater. And some part of you must agree with me or we wouldn’t be sitting here because you would have turned me over to the Jedi.”

Galathan took a deep breath and then winced, clutching his side. “That’s fallacious reasoning, but you’re not entirely wrong. You’re a good man, Dorian. I can see that and I don’t think the Force is best served with you shipped off to some isolated, Jedi enclave for the extent of the war. But you  _ must _ be honest with me. Is there  _ anything _ else you’re hiding? Any information you held back because it might give you away?”

Dorian reached up to twirl his mustache and grimaced when he felt the stiff hair. “Nothing actionable. Darth Malgus made no few comments about some major, devastating strike against the Republic, but everyone with the Force knows that by now. I can barely sleep for the tension headaches it causes.”

Galathan nodded in agreement and rubbed his temples. “I’ve felt it, too, and I can’t say it’s not nice to have outside confirmation that something’s coming.”

“I’m sorry for deceiving you, Gal. You’ve been a great friend and I took advantage of that.”

“I don’t agree with what you did. And I don’t know if keeping your secret is the right thing, but I’ve had a long time to consider my options while I recovered. I just hope it it’s the right decision.”

\---

Voluminous, black robes, glittering gold overcoats and a myriad of sashes, belts and buckles all floated through the center of Dorian’s little flat. At imperious waves of his hands, they re-assembled themselves into different combinations and outfits. However, no amount of arm-waving could change the fact that after five months in Republic space, Dorian was out of new combinations.

Gal looked on indulgently from the apartment’s single couch. He found such casual Force use fascinating, if unnecessary. He wouldn’t do it himself, though that was mostly due to his poor telekinesis, but he’d also never seen anything like it among the Jedi.  _ Master would find it frivolous _ .

When Dorian looked ready to turn from frustrated to actually upset, Gal said, “You know, Dorian, I’ve been wondering.”

The Imperial waved his arm and the clothes floated back into his bedroom to be hung or folded later. “Do ask. I am a veritable  _ font _ of information.”

“What did you do with your lightsaber?”

Dorian tapped his pursed lips. “I think I left it in the manor. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it when I defected.”

Gal shook his head. “I can hardly imagine doing that.”

With a shrug, Dorian sat in his armchair. “I’m sure whatever Pavus ancestor that originally owned it is happier it stayed there.”

“...You didn’t make it?”

“Why would I? I’m no metalsmith. Did  _ you _ make yours?”

Gal blinks. “Of course I did. We all do. It’s part of your Trials.”

“But it’s so nice!”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Gal responded with a laugh. “But really, do Sith not make their own lightsabers?”

“I don’t know anyone who did.” Dorian paused. “Well, I suppose I don’t know very many Sith and fewer still that I could have a conversation with.”

“But how do you know if it suits you?”

“It just… does? Are you saying some lightsabers simply don’t work for certain people?”

“Not quite, but…” Gal struggled to think of an explanation. “They just work better if you can imbue the pieces with your own Force energy while you build it.”

“Can’t you just disassemble it and get the same results?”

“It would have the residual Force of the original maker,” Gal replied. He rubbed the back of his head. “It just makes it better. I don’t know how else to say it, that’s just how it is.”

“Your simply shocking levels of eloquence aside.” He paused as Gal laughed. “That’s truly fascinating. Do you think there’s any information about it on the Holonet?”

“Maybe. I’ll check the archives and see if I can find something on the theory. I can’t bring you a holocron, but I’ll take some notes.”

\---

“You were away for a few days,” Dorian said. They sat side by side on Dorian’s couch, since he’d covered the chair with scraps of cloth and small, gold-colored fasteners. He was in the middle of sewing a dark brown swath of fabric onto a black mass of cloth Gal was only  _ mostly _ certain was his other robe.

“Sorry about that; there’s a virus going through the temple, so I had to take on a lot of shifts with the children.”

“Dare I ask what ‘shifts with the children’ entail?”

Gal laughed. “We have a lot of really young children that were brought to the temple when they first exhibited signs of Force Sensitivity. They just need general minding. You know, feed them, put them down for naps, make sure they don’t fight, change nappies.”

“Sounds right up your alley. Did the menagerie follow you around?”

“They were busy crowding the sick, I’ll have you know,” Gal said with fake offense. “You’re not still sour about your rug are, you?”

“It took them three weeks to replace! My toes were frozen, simply  _ frozen, _ when I tried to use the loo in the mornings. Akk dogs have no place in civilized society.”

Warmth filled Gal’s chest at Dorian’s mock-outrage. “Of course, Dorian. I’m sure the flat was absolutely barbaric in the interim.”

“I’ve had to peel all of my own grapes for months!”

Gal nudged Dorian’s shoulder with his own. “Anyway, yes, I do like looking after the children. It feels a little like going home, like being part of a big family. They’re not distant like the rest of the Order.”

Dorian lowered his sewing and met Gal’s eyes. “I never realized how lonely being a Jedi must be.”

Blood pounded in in Gal’s ears and he felt his cheeks heating.  _ I haven’t been lonely in months and there’s no question of why. _ He broke away from Dorian’s intense gaze and toyed with some of the fabric that had fallen into his lap. “There’s always work to do, so I don’t think of it much. The last few months have been… nice.”

Dorian quickly wet his lips. “I agree. I didn’t think I’d be able to… be myself.”

“Yeah, not here where you have to hide your abilities.” Gal said. He sounded like a fool to his own ears with how breathless he was from the frantic beating of his heart. Hesitantly, he met Dorian’s eyes.  “I lo- enjoy seeing you use the Force for everyday things.”

“I meant anywhere,” Dorian said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t let the Hierarchy know I care about… people.”

“Right. Of course.”

Dorian lifted his hand and let it hover just next to Gal’s cheek. “Do you think… That is, could we…”

_ I think it’s a terrible idea. I think it goes against the tenets of the Order. I think we absolutely shouldn’t, _ Gal thought just before leaning in and pressing his lips to Dorian’s.

\---

“-sure you don’t get injured. I don’t want to play host to those  _ beasts _ again,” Dorian’s holomessage finished.

Gal smiled fondly as the call winked off. A few minutes later, he stepped off of the speeder where he was met by a tawny-haired human in civilian clothing. Gal bowed politely.

“Knight Galathan, right?” The man continued at Gal’s nod. “I’m Knight Reynard. Welcome to the Void. Sorry, Balmorra. Welcome to Balmorra.”

“That bad?” Gal asked. He quirked and eyebrow and looked around the base, but aside from the medics, everyone was in civilian clothing and there wasn’t another Jedi to be seen. At least not openly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t told anything other than that I was to report here. I feel a bit overdressed.”

Reynard smiled, but it was tainted with sadness. He gestured for Gal to follow him into one of the buildings. “Sorry about that, but it was intentional. I’ve got a kit for you to change into, as well. We’re doing something I like to call Guerilla Evacuations.”

Once they were inside, Gal accepted the parcel of clothing and started pulling off his outer robe. “Guerilla Evacuations?”

“We’re losing Balmorra, full stop. The droid factories, the munitions: all of it.”

Gal flinched and hissed. “Are we? I hadn’t heard-”

“Of course not. We can’t afford the hit to our morale after the Alderaan campaign. But we’ve still got to get people out.”

“And destroy the factories?” Gal asked. He struggled with the rust-stained trousers as he listened.

“Absolutely not! Well, not if I was in charge anyway,” Reynard answered. His face twisted in anger before calm settled over him again. “Not everyone can evacuate and those that stay are going to face the wrath of Sith when the factories can’t meet projections that’ll already be overblown.”

“Oh… I- I hadn’t considered that.”

“The Empire doesn’t care about the people here. Balmorra is one thing to them: resources. If it fails to produce they’ll take the ‘difference’ in blood and I’m not talking about murder. You know that  _ doom _ we all feel in the Force? That may be the moment Malgus gets his hands on this.”

Gal felt ten years old again. He could only stand and stare as the definition of ‘horrible’ and ‘tragedy’ were rewritten for him a second time. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. “So we’re just discreetly moving people out?”

“That’s right. You’re going to focus on keeping guard and defense. I have some measure of Empathy, so I’ll keep everyone calm and quiet while we move them. Master Istimaethoriel told me your specialty was soresu form?”

“That’s correct.”

“Perfect; let’s move.”

\---

Two weeks of smuggling people out of the dusty, mortar-ravaged plains of Balmorra left Gal with a near-constant knot of tension in the back of his neck. The weaselly young man he was arguing with didn’t help matters any. “This is a  _ Dark Side _ relic. You  _ cannot _ keep it and you most certainly can’t take it to the refugee facilities on Coruscant.”

“But I  _ need _ it,” the dark-haired teenager whined. “And you can’t just take it from me! I paid good credits for that! When the Empire comes knocking,  _ this _ ,” he waved the amulet around, causing Gal to dodge out of the way of the tainted object, “is going to protect me from the Sith.”

“We’re taking you to Coruscant. The heart of the Republic. The Empire won’t come knocking.” Gal shook the bag in front of him again. It was imbued by some Light Side ritual that would protect Gal and the others from whatever curses tainted the object.

“Do you know who my  _ father _ is?” The boy asked with an ugly expression.

Through sheer force of will alone, Gal managed not to rubs his temples in frustration. Instead, he just made desperate eye contact with Reynard, who jogged over. Though the other Jedi was only a little older, something about him exuded authority. Some combination of his posture and presence… and being human, though Gal tried not to let the last bother him.

“Give me the sitrep,” Reynard said.

“This young man refuses to hand over a dangerous Sith relic.”

“It’s not dangerous, it’s  _ protection _ .” The young man puffed out his chest. “If I’m wearing this, the Sith won’t attack me.”

In a flash, Reynard ripped the amulet out of the young man’s hand and casually examined it. “Ah, a Mark of Fealty.” He leaned in towards Gal, despite the dalish Jedi’s attempt to stay well away from the relic. “See this crest here? This amulet means that the family represented by the crest vows to protect the wearer.”

“That’s right,” the young man said, holding his hand out for the amulet.

Gal raised his eyebrows at Reynard, knowing the other Jedi wouldn’t let the boy keep it.

“But that’s not all it does. It wouldn’t emanate Dark Side energy if that’s all it did. See, when the vassal loses his usefulness, the family here can use the amulet to kill them remotely. It keeps snitches from talking.” Reynard shrugged and offered the amulet back to the young man, who had paled to the color of bleached sand. 

He shook his head in terrified silence and sprinted away from the Jedi into the shuttle with the rest of the refugees.

Reynard smirked and dropped the amulet into the bag.

“Was that true? About the amulet?” Gal asked only after sealing the bag and activating the Force protections.

“Yup. Don’t let the Sith fool you. The truth is a much better weapon than lies. Kid might’ve been spared death only to be handed over to that family where he’d face much worse for ‘deigning to disrespect the family name’ or somesuch.  _ There is no death; there is only the Force _ . But death isn’t what’s waiting for us if the Sith have their way.”

Uncomfortable under the weight of Reynard’s grim words, Gal shifted the bag from hand to hand for a moment before saying, “I’m heading back today. I’ll just deliver this to Master Istimaethoriel, shall I?”

\---

Artificial sunlight lit Dorian’s flat in the early morning hours. Not that it kept him from tripping over Galathan’s pile of gear sitting just inside of the door. He chuckled after he caught himself on the back of the couch and then made his way into the tiny kitchen with a smile on his face. 

After preparing the tea service and setting it on the coffee table, Dorian called into his bedroom. “Tea’s ready.”

A moment later, Galathan shuffled into the living space, wrapped up in Dorian’s duvet. His hair stuck up at all angles and there were tired bags under his eyes, but he already looked better than he had the night before when he stumbled into Dorian’s arms. He sat on the couch, duvet and all, and narrowed his eyes at the tea service.

Ever so slowly, a cup flipped to upright on its saucer and then held still while the simple pot poured hot tea inside. Dorian chuckled and watched, bemused, as the cream and sugar similarly relocated themselves into the cup in appropriate quantities. It certainly would have been faster and more energy efficient to do it manually, but Dorian wasn’t about to say anything that might dissuade Galathan from practicing casual Force use.

Dorian kissed Gal on the cheek and savored the smile he got in return as he made his own cup of tea. “I see you took my advice and didn’t get injured.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” Gal said after his first sip.

“Did it go well?” Dorian held his delightfully ugly teacup in both hands, relishing the slight warmth. After that thought occurred to him, he shifted closer to Galathan and his cocoon.

“Mmhmm. Very little open conflict, which is good. We were just relocating people to Coruscant.” Galathan yawned and leaned towards Dorian, squishing the thick duvet between them.

“I understand if you can’t tell me, but  _ where in the galaxy _ did you find that creepy Force bag? It scared the daylights out of me when I stumbled over it earlier.”

Galathan turned his head and blinked at Dorian. “Creepy Force bag?”

Dorian gestured to the pile of gear by the door. “It’s in the pile. I didn’t  _ touch _ it. I know Sith training is flawed and missing most vital components, but there was a section on ‘Don’t pick up or move mysterious, probably dangerous Force relics.”

Galathan pressed his face into Dorian’s shoulder. “The only Force object I have is that warded bag.”

“I didn’t think the Jedi had Force wards.”

“Why wouldn’t we have Force wards?” Galathan asked, though his voice was muffled.

“I thought we’d just accepted that we’re woefully under-informed about each others’ Order.”

“Well, we do.” Galathan pulled back and took another sip of tea. “ _ Actually _ , levitate it over here.”

Dorian did as asked, but had the bag locate itself on Galathan’s side of the couch, as far away from himself as possible.

“Dorian, are you  _ afraid _ of the bag?”

“It doesn’t  _ feel _ right.”

Galathan laughed and set down his teacup. He used both hands to release the warding seal on the bag and then gingerly reached inside. “Do you recognize this?”

The garish teacup fell from Dorian’s suddenly limp hands. It spilled hot tea all over the duvet and rolled down the fabric and onto the floor, unbroken. “Yes,” Dorian finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s one of the things I sold on Nar Shaddaa to get to Taris.”

“This was  _ yours _ ?”

“I didn’t have anything else to sell. It’s not easy to convert Imperial credits to Republic ones without-”

“No, Dorian, the other Knight said that this could have  _ killed you _ .”

Dorian looked back and forth between his family’s amulet and Galathan’s face. “...Most Sith items can do that, but your expression tells me it’s something more than that.”

“Whomever controls this family,” Galathan gestured to the intricate orobird depicted in gold, “can kill the wearer remotely. Once they… outlive their usefulness, he said.”

“My father would never-” Dorian froze, hand extended toward the amulet. “Well… I’d thought he’d never sacrifice anyone to the Dark Side, either.” His throat felt hot and tight. “Even… even if not for that, he  _ can _ use that to trace the physical location of the wearer. You should… put it back in the creepy bag.”

Galathan bit his lip and nodded. He lowered the amulet back into the bag and reactivated the wards. “If my master can disenchant it, I’ll try to get it back to you?”

“Thank you, Gal. You don’t know what that would mean to me.”

“I think I’m starting to.”

\---

Coruscanti crowds were eerily similar to Kaasian ones, Dorian thought as he walked through the spaceport.  _ Of course, here they’re showing deference to someone who might be important rather than fearing for their lives _ . 

He curled the end of his mustache as he walked with even strides. His over robe billowed behind him with every step, the gold-colored embroidery catching the light and more than a few glances. The message on his datapad made him anxious.  _ Not anxious. Reasonably concerned _ , he thought as he double-checked the hangar number.

Dorian gave the security guard a saucy wink as he strode into the hangar and up the gangway. As soon as he made it through the airlock, his concern faded away.  
  
Galathan was smiling at him from ear to ear. He took Dorian’s hand and pulled him further into the Defender. “Come on, we don’t want to hold back Port Authority’s schedule.”

“We can’t have that,” Dorian said. “Where are we going? If my memory is correct, which it always is, I’m not supposed to go off-world.”

Galathan settled into one of the cabin seats as the pilot-droid started up the engines. “That’s true; this is special circumstances. You told the Senate that you worked closely with Imperial Reclamation Services.”

Dorian blinked as he took his own seat. “Yes, that’s true. All of the Rakata items and some of the Sith bloodline relics I mentioned fall under their purview.”

“We found a squad of their people on Ilum. Supposedly, they didn’t even know we were at war.”

“Sounds like Reclamation Services,” Dorian said before he could process the entire sentence. “Wait, _ Ilum _ ? Are they mad? Well, yes, Reclamation Services, but truly, who do they think they’re fooling?”

“The Jedi, actually.” Galathan said. “Master Killian interviewed them and believes they really  _ are _ on world just to study the ruins.”

“Their Sith overseer could just protect their real memories,” Dorian said. He pulled out his orobird-feather fan and turned it over in his hands.

“Master Killian is a miraluka.” At Dorian’s shrug, Galathan explained, “They’re blind and see with the Force. It greatly heightens their ability to sense Force signatures and she’s one of the best in the Order.”

“I still have trouble believing the Republic’s military would just take her word for it.”

“That’s where you come in. You’ll look at them through one-way glass. If you recognize them and their identities match who they say they are, we won’t destroy their research and will organize a quick prisoner exchange.”

Dorian opened and closed his fan a few times. “And I suspect if I don’t recognize the unfortunate fellows they’ll be sent in for interrogation and such. Well, I hope the Force is on their side. I certainly don’t know everyone in the Service. That said, you look far more excited than this little field trip would warrant.”

“Dorian, it’s  _ Ilum _ ,” Galathan said. His eyes all but glittered in happiness. “We can get you a Force crystal!”

It was only centuries of good breeding and a lifetime of proper manners that kept Dorian from launching himself at the Jedi and snogging him senseless for the duration of the flight. With Herculean effort, Dorian held himself in check. He took a moment to process everything and felt a wave of sadness rush over him. “This is fantastic and more than I could ever ask for, but it’s not worth the risk. I can’t ask you to secretly smuggle me, a Sith, even if just in name, a Force crystal. Being a Knight is your life.”

Galathan’s expression turned into something soft that Dorian thought he recognized, but was too cowardly to put a name to. 

“Thank you. Your concern means a lot to me, but you don’t have to worry about this.” Galathan broke eye contact and rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed. “The truth is, Master Istimaethoriel recognized your Force signature when she started stripping the power out of the amulet. She trusts my judgement on keeping your secret, but thinks you should be able to defend yourself should the need arise.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. Other than that I owe her a fruit basket.” Dorian could only stare as Galathan sat next to him and took his hands in both of his own. Dorian sniffed in a blatant attempt to hold back his emotions. “You need to stop telling me these things. My heart simply can’t take it.”

“We won’t be able to take you to a proper saber forge, but I collected a lot of spare parts so you can pick and choose how you want it put together.”

“You’re too much. I hope you know that.”

Galathan grinned at him. “Maybe someday we’ll be able to get you the kind of life you should have always had.”

\---

The glittering cavern was unnaturally silent. The walls were striped with thick veins of pastel-colored Force crystals. They hummed with power and bathed the space with soft blue-tinted light. Gal was torn between staring at the crystals and watching Dorian’s expression of awe.

“This is… How can you ever bring yourself to leave?”

Gal put his arm around Dorian’s waist. “The cold is one. Food and water get important after a while. Companionship.”

Dorian chuckled and pressed his cheek to Gal’s without taking his eyes off of the crystals. “I can almost forget how cold it is here. I think you’ll have to drag me away.”

“Don’t worry, I’m prepared,” Gal said. He moved his hand to the center of Dorian’s back and gave him a light push. “Go on, you can’t pick one standing all of the way out here.”

Short, hesitant steps brought Dorian to one of the veins of crystal. He lifted his hands to touch only to stare confusedly at his gloved hands when they didn’t feel how he expected. He barely even noticed when Gal came and took his gloves away, he pressed his skin to the glowing crystal.

Gal moved back to the center of the cavern and held Dorian’s gloves in his sleeves. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he watched his… friend… lover… choose a Force crystal. They were such a personal thing and finding one that resonated with you could…  _ Well, his face really says it all, doesn’t it? I wonder how his Force use will change with a proper crystal to focus through? ...Aside from when he saved me, he’s been doing everything without one. That’s… _

Gal was startled out of his thoughts by Dorian’s gasp. He walked across the cavern to where Dorian was kneeling and put a hand on his shoulder. In Dorian’s hand was a pale crystal with just a hint of purple in its depths. “Is that the one?”

Dorian’s fingers closed over the crystal and he stood. “I think so.” He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, they emitted a sinister purple glow that also swirled around the hand that held the crystal. Dorian’s voice sounded suddenly strange, as if his words were echoed by a chorus of a thousand voices.  “Yes, this is the one.”

Though Gal hadn’t flinched, he knew his face reflected the internal horror he felt. He struggled to find words. “Dorian… What…” 

Dorian blinked and the purple glow disappeared as quickly as it had come. His warm, brown eyes had no hint of the purple aura. “What? Oh,  _ that _ . It’s never come up, has it? My specialty is necromancy. Kaas City is simply  _ rife _ with malicious Force ghosts. Endless exorcism practice.”

A relieved laugh bubbled out of Gal. “Oh thank goodness, that was…”

“Creepy? Terrible for my complexion? Oh, the  _ struggle _ , but you can’t choose where your talents lay, sadly.” Dorian took his gloves back and tried to pull them on without letting go of the crystal, though eventually he handed it to Gal. “Would you believe there’s a Sith art of housing Force ghosts within yourself? Of all of the Sith’s bad ideas, I can’t imagine a single benefit to that one.”

“It sounds just as ridiculous as most Sith arts you tell me about.”

“Well I know  _ quite _ a lot about this one. Let me tell you about Lord Septimius…”

\---

Speeders flying too close to Dorian’s building rattled the windows in the tiny flat. It wasn’t what woke him, but it was enough to convince him not to bother going back to sleep. Instead he pressed his face into the back of Galathan’s neck and took a deep breath in.

Laying wrapped around each other helped push back the throbbing tension of imminent doom that weighed so heavily in the air Dorian could practically feel it while wearing the suppression cuffs. He didn’t want to get up, even if tea service now had  _ two _ hideous, garish, unfathomably fragile teacups.

“Dorian?”

“Yes, Gal?” Dorian answered after nuzzling the back of his lover’s neck again.

“We  _ do _ have to get up at some point.” Galathan said, though he also made no move to shift the duvet. “Master wanted to give me a refresher on shii-cho forms.”

“That’s the one with the jumping and the swooping and-” Dorian made a few undignified sound effects, partially to make Galathan laugh -  a success - and partially because he hadn’t the fainted idea what the technical terms were.

“Yes,” Galathan said after he’d rolled over and accepted his good morning kiss. “It’s more a more offensive style. In the event of an emergency, I’m still slotted as defence, but given the… “

“The ominous music crescendoing in the back of all of our heads?”

“Yes, that, and I didn’t think it was possible to laugh about it, but there you go, doing impossible things. Anyway, she just wants to make sure my muscle memory is go- Dorian! I really don’t have time for  _ that _ .”

“You’re underestimating my talent.”

“You’re underestimating how reluctant I already am to get out of bed. Stop making it more difficult,” the Jedi said with a laugh.

“Very careful word choice there, Master Jedi,” Dorian said. Reluctantly he pulled away. “You have time for tea and scones before you go, at least?”

“I’d never be so cruel as to make you have tea alone.”

While pointedly ignoring the warning bells the Force kept clanging in his head, Dorian pulled on a dressing gown and went into his tiny kitchen. He knew from experience he couldn’t watch Galathan get dressed without wanting to promptly  _ un _ dress him, so he kept his eyes on the electric kettle. “Are you going to speak with Master Shan while you’re at the temple?”

“If she’s available,” Galathan said, his voice somewhat muted as he pulled his robes on over his head. “Are you  _ sure _ about this?”

“I trust your judgement. If you think she won’t shuttle me off for isolation and re-education, I’m willing to make all of my skills available to the war effort.” Dorian set the tea service down on his coffee table and prepared them each a cup of tea in the matching, ghastly,  _ beloved _ teacups.

Just as Dorian finished with the tea, Galathan took his seat and lifted his cup. “Thank you. And Dorian, truly, I trust you. I don’t need you to do this to prove-”

“As spectacular as you are, dearest, I’ve wanted to do the right thing since before I met you. I want to do this for  _ me _ . Well, and all of the Republic, I suppose. Who knows where you’d be without me.”

Galathan’s grin could have outshone both of Tattooine’s suns, even with it half-hidden behind his cup. “Of course. Here’s hoping she agrees. We can both do so much more if we’re not shackled to Coruscant. Yes, there are refugees here, but the frontlines… When I was on Balmorra…”

“I know. Force willing, this will end soon.”

“Force willing.”

\---

The Jedi temple on Coruscant was the grandest in the galaxy. Ornate pillars stretched up to vaulted ceilings only to be topped with delicate capitals. The archives had holocrons filled with knowledge going back thousands of years. Fountains provided calm spots for meditation, as well as dispersing heat from all of computers and datacenters in the temple complex. In its entirety, the Jedi temple was the culmination of generations of Force talent in architecture, design and academics.

Gal loved every inch of it. The ambient Force from generations of padawans learning their skills was more than enough to drown out the feeling of impending doom that pervaded the rest of the city planet. He looked over his shoulder to see Dorian’s reaction.

Dorian looked  _ aggressively _ unimpressed, even going so far as to raise an eyebrow at a tinkling fountain. However, when he met Gal’s eyes, he winked and grinned before replacing his aloof, Imperial facade. The gold suppression cuffs glittered on his wrists; Master Shan was willing to interview him before making her final decision, but had requested that he arrive unarmed.

Gal tapped his pocket where Dorian’s purple-bladed lightsaber rested. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but his lover’s Force crystal resonated with him almost as well as his own. Gal led them through the heart of the temple to one of the quiet, meditation rooms on the edge of the building. “Alright, are you ready for this?”

Dorian took Gal’s hands and held them with both of his own. “You’re far more concerned about this than I am. I trust your judgement. You chose  _ me _ , after all.”

“Dorian-”

“I trust you. And I love you. Go get Master Shan.”

Heart ready to burst, Gal nodded, squeezed Dorian’s hands and stepped out of the room. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the warmth in his heart and spirit evaporated and the chill that slid down his spine froze him in place. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lungs couldn’t expand for the tightness in his chest.

The roaring in his ears left Gal deaf to the thunderous crash and crunch that surely accompanied the side of the temple smashing inwards. Gal raised his left arm defensively, but it did nothing to stop the column crashing down.

Everything winked into blackness.

\---

Gal gasped for breath when he woke up and immediately regretted it. His ribs felt bruised, at best and his vision was a little blurry. As his last memories rushed back to him, he tried to sit up. “Dorian, I have to find-”

“I’m right here. I’m fine,” Dorian said, though he didn’t look fine. His face was covered in dirt, dried blood and kolto and his mustache was limp. “But you have to listen to me. The Empire destroyed the temple. They’re razing the entire planet.”

“The children-” Gal started to shout before Dorian clamped a hand over his mouth.

Tears welled in Dorian’s eyes. “I  _ know _ , but you have to worry about yourself right now. I- You- I’m so sorry, Gal.”

He lifted his hand to pull Dorian’s off of his mouth, but  _ nothing happened _ . The cold that had frozen him in the temple crashed into Gal again as he looked down at his left arm and saw it was severed at the elbow. “Dorian,” he tried to say.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was skewered on a piece of alusteel rebar. You would have bled out. I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Emotions clanged and clamored around Gal’s head and he closed his eyes, holding them tightly shut for a moment before nodding. When Dorian removed his hand, Gal said, “What now? Where are we?”

Dorian’s expression turned from guilty to grim. “We’re on a Mandalorian ship right now. One of their captains recognized the Mark of Fealty and chose to bring me back for a bonus. I did a lot of fast-talking to convince her to let me bring you ‘as my prisoner’ and make no mistake, she’s not going to risk the paint job on her armor to hide you from the Sith Hierarchy.”

Gal took a measured breath in. “So I’m in… the brig?”

“Yes. I had to steal a painkiller from her medical droid. I have your lightsaber. You’ll have to keep up the stoic Jedi mask until my father or Alexius pays the bonus for rescuing me.”

“But they’re-”

“I  _ know _ , but the Mandos were slitting the throats of every injured Jedi in the ruins. I didn’t have a  _ choice _ . I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Gal took several shuddering breaths. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you. We’ll… We’ll get through this and figure something out.”

“Hopefully the Force is with us.”

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The second time Galathan woke up, it was to the sound of quietly whirring medical equipment. He reached out in the Force to feel Dorian and relaxed when he did. The Force suppression cuffs were gone, he was getting medical treatment and Dorian was nearby; he must have simply slept through getting turned over to Dorian’s family.

But when he opened his eyes, it was to a ship’s medbay and a Mandalorian standing over him. She was human, probably, with black hair, green eyes and a stare as piercing as any master’s. She leaned over him and methodically moved her hand in front of his eyes - first one, then the other. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she pulled back. “You in your right head, kid? Or did the  _Sith_ mindkriff you?”  
  
Galathan hesitated. Mandalorians were allied with the Empire and loathed the Jedi above all else. She couldn’t be trying to help him, so did she know that Dorian was planning to use her to smuggle a Jedi into the Empire? 

“I’m in my right mind,” he began, carefully. “And alive and prisoner is better than being dead.”  
  
“Not with  _Sith_ ,” she replied. She reached down and touched the stump of his left arm. The cauterized flesh had been covered with a metal cap designed to connect to a cybernetic limb. “The wound was fairly clean, considering, but infection can strike anyone. Mustache is too dumb to suspect I’d lie to him, but even if he figures out I helped you, he won’t have any proof.”  
  
“You… You want to help me get back to the Republic?”  
  
The Mandalorian snorted and rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not. Being better than the Sith doesn’t make them  _good_. I’m taking you somewhere you’ll be safe. If you wanna go back so bad, you can try to convince them.”  
  
 _Well I’m much more worried now. She’s attached to some kind of crazy, Force cult, I guess? A Revanite? Wait, I thought Mandalorians hated Revan_ … “Uh… I appreciate your offer, but I think I’ll try my luck with Do- With the Sith.”  
  
But the Mandalorian caught his slip, if her narrowed eyes and calculating expression is anything to go by. She replaced her helmet and left him alone in the medbay with the machines. A med droid clonked around where Galathan couldn’t see, each clanging step ratcheting his stress up an additional notch.  
  
After several, impossibly long, minutes, Dorian appeared in the medbay. His mustache was frazzled and showed clear signs of being pulled on. “Gal! There you are! Thank the Force. Are you okay? Why are you in here?”  
  
Galathan took hold of one of Dorian’s hands and pulled it against his chest. He lowered his own voice to a whisper, even though that wouldn’t help if the Mandalorian had listening devices in the room. “I think the Mandalorian’s a Revanite. She offered to take me to some… unaffiliated Forcer place and tell you I died of infection.” He nodded to the metal cap on his left arm.  
  
Dorian traced his fingers over the durasteel. “I’m sorry I had to-”  
  
“There wasn’t time and you’re more than forgiven, besides. We have a bigger problem. I told her I’d rather take my chances with you and she suspects  _something_ about us. What if she went to call her Imperial contact?”  
  
A loud electronic whir kept Dorian from responding as the Mandalorian’s stealth generator deactivated. “You kids aren’t very good at this cloak and dagger kark, are you?”  
  
Dorian looked like a nerf caught in the speeder lights, so Galathan answered. “Er, no, ma’am.”  
  
“I’m no Revanite. I hope he’s enjoying the Void with Demagol. What I want to know is what you two kiwis plan to do with Pavus Senior. He’s been cozying up with the Ministry of Defense ever since you disappeared.”  
  
Dorian frowned at her. “You’re remarkably well-informed on Imperial politics.”

“You realize Mandalorians have holonet access, right? Your father is a publicity akk if I’ve ever seen one.”  
  
“…Oh. Right, of course.”  
  
“Well?”  
  
Galathan and Dorian shared a glance before blinking at her. “Well what?”  
  
“ _What do you plan to do about Lord Pavus?_ ” The Mandalorian clapped her gauntlet over her T-visor in a loud, emphatic facepalm.  
  
“Father has flaws, more lately than before, but he would never…” Dorian’s words trailed off. “ _Oh_ , when you say he’s close to the Ministry, you mean he’s probably being watched.”  
  
“That’s correct.”  
  
Dorian met Galathan’s eyes, looking for some kind of solution, but the Jedi could only shrug at him. With a sigh, Dorian twirled his mess of a mustache. “I suppose we’d like the details about this unaffiliated Forcer place, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

Olkin II’s sun beat hot and sharp on the back of Galathan’s neck. His fingers were stained green and pink from the flowering vines he was fighting. When a vine started curling around his wrist, he flicked its new leaf. “Stop it. There’s a perfectly good trellis right here if you’d just wrap around that.”

“Talking to the plants again, amatus?”

Gal and the leaf both turned to Dorian. “It helps.” Gal pointed to where the leaf was bobbing up and down in the facsimile of a nod. “The base species is highly sensitive to people’s voices and then this strain was spliced by a Forcer.”

Dorian blinked and leaned forward. He tickled a flower bud. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The flower started to open. “Almost as wonderful as me.” It closed again and sunk back against its vine. Dorian laughed.

“Don’t tease the flowers. I want this arch ready for the housewarming party and the governor wants me in the spaceport this afternoon. Hound is bringing in a bunch of new residents. Orphans. Some pretty young.” Gal coaxed the vine onto the trellis with a soft caress. He spritzed it with vitamin-infused water.

“Hound? We still need to thank her. Why didn’t I get a summons?” Dorian walked around the arch and took a seat on the white, painted benched beneath it. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath.

“Everyone with Empathy or a calming presence in the Force was summoned. You’re a little loud, Dorian.” Gal chuckled at the way his lover’s mustache twitched. He pulled another vine toward the top of the arch.

Dorian opened his eyes and rubbed his chin. “Not entirely unfair. It’s futile to try to suppress all of this majesty.”

“And who would want to?” The flower next to Gal’s head bloomed in time with his radiant smile.

The sight knocked the wind out of Dorian’s lungs. He reached his hand out. “Come here, amatus. You can’t be this domestic and not grace me with a kiss.”

Against his better judgement, Gal left the vine to reach toward the sun and sat next to his husband. They exchanged soft kisses and Gal rested progressively more of his weight on Dorian until he started laughing.

“You’re getting plant detritus all over me!”

Gal held his stained fingers threateningly close to the white accent on Dorian’s robe. “I thought you wanted kisses.”

They held the stare for only a few seconds before laughing and pressing their faces together, noses and foreheads rubbing. Dorian put his hand on Gal’s face and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Have I ever told you how eternally grateful I am that the Jedi couldn’t beige the mischief out of you?”

The laugh that bubbled out of Galathan’s chest was so sudden and so strong that he pulled away with a gasp before it escaped. “Did you just use beige as a verb?”

A flush touched Dorian’s dark skin. “I am trying to be both accurate and respectful rather than simply repeating the propaganda I-”

“Yes, and I love you for it, but beige?”

Dorian was not pouting. Definitely not. “And what word would you use?”

Gal opened his mouth, but everything that came to mind paled before the strange perfection ‘beige’ encompassed. He put a finger over Dorian’s lips. “Alright. I’ll give you that one. I’m going to wash the garden off. If you don’t upset the plants before I get back, I’ll bring you to the spaceport with me.”

Dorian kissed the finger and winked.

\---

Though he was a year outside of the Jedi Order and living happily on Olkin II, Galathan wore his Jedi robes to the spaceport. Even though most new arrivals were Imperial, some found comfort in the sight of boring, brown robes. Dorian had changed into plain, civilian clothes, a half-size too small because they were from Galathan’s closet, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to give the Mandalorian that saved them her due thanks. He walked at Galathan’s shoulder and muted his presence in the Force as much as he could without a suppression device.

But internalizing his Force just made Dorian aware of the tightrope of anticipation in the Force. Something was going to happen. Something big. Life-changing. Good. He imagined this is what it would have felt like just before he met Gal if he hadn’t been suppressed.

They shuffled into the receiving area with the other calming presences. Dorian felt himself start to tense. He suddenly wasn’t so sure he could handle a gaggle of screaming, terrified children. He imagined himself, age seven, parentless and carted around the galaxy by armored brutes. Hysterical tears were the best case scenario. A raging tantrum with baby sparks of Force lightning was far more likely.

Gal sensed his anxiety and took his hand, weaving their fingers together. He smiled. “It’ll be alright. The governor just likes to take every possible step to make the transition as easy as possible.”

“I will trust you on that,” Dorian said. To his surprise, even after all their time together, saying the words made him feel it. His heart swelled and the feeling of impending… What  _ was _ the opposite of doom? Glee? Joyous refrain? He didn’t have words for how wonderful Gal made him feel every day, but it was that, just soon to come. Dorian wasn’t sure his heart could take two helpings of it.

That was ridiculous, of course it could. Dorian could handle anything the galaxy threw at him. With grace. And certainly no happy tears. He had more decorum than that.

A loud hiss of the airlock heralded the Mandalorians and their young charges. ...But no screaming or sobs accompanied it. Each child held onto a warrior like they were trusted guardians. And their other hands were occupied with a stuffed toy or a snack that seemed to require a lot of chewing, but didn’t drop crumbs.

Dorian gestured silently, pointing between the Mandalorians and the children with his eyebrows set close together in offended confusion.

Gal muffled his chuckle with a hand. He leaned in and whispered, “The only thing Mandalorians love more than fighting is children.” He turned his head back to the Mandalorian’s ship. “Oh, I think that’s Hound.”

Dorian was about to agree. He’d recognize armor painted that garishly with his eyes closed: he’d be able to hear it. But he couldn’t. All of the breath had left his lungs. The tense rope in the Force had snapped. Cradled in Hound’s arms was a baby qunari: all blushing grey skin and little nubs of horns. Everything in Dorian screamed at him to rush over to her and take the child.

He took a few breaths to ensure his voice wouldn’t waver when he spoke and even then, all he could say was, “Gal?”

“I feel it.”

“I suppose we’re parents now.”

**Author's Note:**

> awaari illustrated a few scenes that can be found [here](https://awaari.tumblr.com/post/167187075308/drew-a-few-of-my-favourite-scenes-from-the-star). Please like and reblog her work; artists have to eat.
> 
> Again, for those only familiar with Dragon Age, [this is a cinematic trailer from SWTOR showing what happened during the Sacking of Coruscant. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdgmH9Vv2)
> 
> Ari's original concept for the AU was immediately pre-Order 66 with Knight Galathan and Republic Senator Dorian Pavus, but honestly, Dorian's backstories and insecurities fit so perfectly with an Old Republic reluctant Sith adaptation that I had to run with it and ended up writing this piece. Thank you for letting me borrow your Disney Prince, Ari. This fic was a ton of fun to write.
> 
> For the one person who reads my SWTOR stuff and is wondering WTF is this, I hope you enjoyed the cameos.


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